The old man winked at Beth, then sized up his son. “You look good. A little thicker, maybe. Must be Beth’s good cooking.”
“It’s been awhile,” Andrew said.
After a tense moment, Beth stepped in to move things along. “So, merry Christmas!”
“Same to you, sweetheart,” Henry said. “C’mon. Tell me everything. You know how I love the gossip.”
“Well, let’s see . . . ,” Beth said. “We just came down for the weekend—sort of a spur-of-the-moment decision. Right, Andrew?”
“Yep,” Andrew said. He couldn’t seem to force himself to meet his father’s eye.
“River Falls is so beautiful in the winter,” Beth said. “Magical.”
“That it is,” Henry said. “Don’t get out much to enjoy it anymore, though. Funny, isn’t it? All my traveling, all the places I’ve been, and I end up back here in the end. Good old River Falls.”
Andrew couldn’t let this pass. “A little late, don’t you think?” Henry looked up. “Mom’s long dead, your home sold and gone, and now you come back to settle down. Nice timing.”
Henry shook his head. “So that’s why you’re here? To make me feel guilty?”
“No,” Beth said. She put a restraining hand on Andrew’s arm.
Andrew seethed. How dare he? “Guilty?” he said. “I’m surprised you know the meaning of the word.”
“Well, merry Christmas to you too,” Henry said.
Beth gave Andrew a pleading look. “Please. Not now.” She turned back to the old man, took his frail hand. “We’re not here to talk about the past. We just wanted to say hello and see how you’re doing.”
Henry relaxed a little, gave Andrew a half smile. “Beth keeps me posted through her letters. Looks like you’ve made it big. Living the dream.”
“I do okay,” Andrew said.
“Okay?” Henry said. “Sounds to me like you’re a real big shot. Six-figure job, fancy apartment, expense account. Isn’t that a kick? You turned out to be a salesman, just like your old man. Guess the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”
Andrew had heard enough. “How dare you take credit for my success! You have nothing to do with who I am! I made it in spite of you, not because of you.”
“Andrew.” Beth tried to cut in, but he ignored her.
He fixed his father with a cold stare. “You have some nerve.”
“Now, hold on, son,” Henry said. “I never said I—”
“Don’t call me son! I’m your offspring, not your son. A son is someone you’re there for, someone you care about. I don’t think I qualify.”
“Andrew, please,” Beth said. She was almost in tears. “Please don’t do this.”
“Look, Andy,” Henry said. “I know I wasn’t there for you as much as I shoulda been, but my business required me to travel . . .”
“Your business, or your girlfriends?” Andrew said.
“I worked hard for my family! I kept food on the table. You and your mother never wanted for anything.”
“Except for one thing,” Andrew said.
Then he turned and walked out, leaving Beth and Henry alone.
Outside the nursing home, Andrew paced and tried to get ahold on his tempestuous swirl of emotions. He kicked at the snow. His father hadn’t been there when he needed him, and now here he was at the worst possible moment. Andrew could imagine Beth back inside, consoling the old man, apologizing for his rude and unforgiving son. She’d find a way to make him feel better. That was Beth.
“Andrew.”
Andrew looked up to see Beth standing there, watching him. The look on her face told him he’d not only hurt his father by his outburst, he’d hurt her too.
“I’m sorry, Beth. The way I was in there . . . it’s inexcusable. I guess it was a mistake coming here.” Andrew shoved his hands in his coat pockets and shook his head. He was lost. He thought he could handle it, thought he could control his emotions for Beth’s sake, and he had failed miserably.
“No, it’s my fault,” Beth said. “I should have told you he was here, that I was in touch with him.”
Andrew took her in his arms and thought again about spilling his terrible secret. If there was a chance she’d believe him, one chance in a million, it might help save her life. He must tell her, even if she thought he was crazy as a loon; he had to try. Then her words flashed through his mind.
“I’d want to live whatever time I had left to the fullest, without looking over my shoulder for the Grim Reaper.”
Beth took his face in her hands and looked him right in the eyes. “Andrew, did you see? Did you see how proud he is of you?”
Andrew swallowed and looked away. “Beth, I’ll deal with my father later. I promise. Just not now. Not tonight.”
Tears welled up in Andrew’s eyes, and when one rolled down his frozen cheek, Beth wiped it away with the tip of her gloved thumb. Andrew Farmer never cried. Never. She kissed one of his cheeks, then the other. “Hey,” she said. “It’s okay. Everything is going to be all right.”
But Andrew knew there was another issue left on the table. “Beth, I think that the reason I’m reluctant to have kids is because I’m afraid I won’t be a good father. What if bad parenting is hereditary?”
Beth wrapped her arms around him. “Oh, Andrew. You’ll be a wonderful father. Of that I have no doubt.”
“Beth, I—”
“Shhh,” Beth said. She put her index finger to his lips. “We don’t have to know all the answers tonight.”
She buried her head in his chest as Andrew looked up at the snowflakes swirling in the streetlamp and whispered to the wind, “I need more time. Please. I just need a little more time.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
On the way back to the inn, Andrew and Beth cut through the nearly deserted downtown. The moonlight reflecting off the snow gave the night a hauntingly bluish tint. Andrew looked up at a winter night sky thick with stars. “Wow,” he said. “Would you look at that?” Beth followed his gaze.
“Yeah. God’s masterpiece,” she said. She stole a look at her husband. “I really like this version of Andy Farmer.”
Andrew smiled. “Andy Farmer 2.0.”
Beth squeezed his arm. “I should have upgraded years ago.”
As they rounded a corner, the sound of music drifted across the tranquil square. “Listen,” Andrew said. “Hear it?”
“Hear what?” Beth said.
Andrew pulled her along with him. “C’mon!”
“Wait! Where are we—?”
Andrew pulled Beth over to the lighted storefront of Antoine’s Italian Restaurant. Through the picture frame window, Beth and Andrew watched young newlyweds slowly shuffle cheek to cheek across a makeshift dance floor to the music of a wedding band. The bride wore a tastefully old-fashioned wedding dress, and the groom was in tails. The dancing couple gazed lovingly into each other’s eyes as family and friends looked on.
Beth smiled. “It’s their first dance.”
Andrew looked at his wife. “Beth, would you do it all over again?”
“Do what over again?”
“Marry me?”
Beth looked into his eyes, and Andrew wasn’t sure what her answer would be. He wished he could reach out and snatch the question back. What if she said—
“Of course I would,” Beth said. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” Andrew smiled, and for a moment all his cares and fears faded into the background of the frosty winter night. The female lead singer’s voice was rich and sweet as it carried out into the vacant square.
It could have been the steeple bell
That wrapped us up in its spell.
It only took one kiss to know
It must have been the mistletoe.
“Remember our first dance?” Beth said.
“It was to ‘Unforgettable,’ ” Andrew said. He took Beth’s hand in his, slipped his other hand down around her waist, and they started to slowly move to the music. They swayed back and forth in t
he cold night air, dancing in rhythm with the newlyweds, lost in each other’s arms, as the singer continued her soulful song:
On Christmas Eve our wish came true
That I would fall in love with you.
It only took one kiss to know
It must have been the mistletoe.
Back at the River Falls Inn, Andrew sat on the edge of the bed staring at Beth as she waged a losing battle with sleep. He marveled at how utterly beautiful she looked, kissed by the soft moonlight that spilled through the hotel room window. He wanted her to stay awake, to keep talking to him, but as her words grew more and more slurred, he knew he’d soon be alone again with his thoughts.
Andrew glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand: 11:51.
“What were you saying?” she said. She could no longer keep her eyes open.
“I was remembering the time you went out with Duffy Waldrop just to make me jealous,” Andrew said.
Beth mumbled, “No, I didn’t. I actually liked Duffy. Sort of, anyway.” She patted the mattress. “Now, come to bed, Duffy.”
“Ha-ha,” Andrew said. “I will soon. I just want to stare at you a little while longer.”
Beth mumbled, her words swallowed in sleep, “Weirdo.”
Andrew chuckled. He’d never felt so alive in his life. He just wanted to drink her in, to savor every moment of her existence. A tear rolled down his cheek, and he quickly wiped it away with his sleeve. No time for tears. He had to hold it together.
Beth had fallen silent; she was breathing in the soft rhythms of sleep. Andrew sensed something—a strange tingling, some sort of magical tug that drew him to the room window. He pulled back the curtain and looked out. Down below, beneath a streetlamp, Lionel waited for him.
“What do you want?” Andrew didn’t even attempt to hide his irritation. He pulled his overcoat snugly around his pajamas.
“Nice to see you too, Andrew,” Lionel said. “Notice the time?”
“Yeah, I know. Eleven fifty-eight.”
“On the dot,” Lionel said. “Exactly twenty-four hours to go.”
“Think again,” Andrew said. “I don’t care who you are or who sent you. There’s no way I let Beth anywhere near that street tomorrow night!”
“Now, Andrew, I told you—”
“I won’t let her die! Understand? Banish me to hell, turn me into a zombie. I really don’t care anymore!”
Lionel chuckled. “A zombie? C’mon, Andrew. We have a deal.”
“Well, the deal’s off!” Andrew said.
“Sorry, Andrew. It’s not your call.”
“Then let’s renegotiate,” Andrew said.
“The terms are final.”
“Oh yeah?” Andrew said. “Says who?”
Lionel glanced up at the sky. “A much bigger power than either you or me.”
Andrew jabbed a finger at Lionel’s chest. “I thought angels were supposed to help people, not kill them.”
“Andrew, don’t do this. Accept what’s to come. It’s her time.”
“No! I won’t accept it! Change her time! Change her fate! Don’t angels have powers?”
“Andrew, we’ve been over this. We have an agreement.”
“I never signed anything.”
“A binding verbal agreement,” Lionel said. “Now, your energies would be better spent looking for Beth’s last Christmas gift.”
“I don’t care about a stupid gift! I want my wife.”
“If Beth skips her date with destiny, the cosmic balance will be thrown out of whack. My boss won’t let that happen.”
Andrew looked Lionel in the eye. His bravado was gone. He was just plain scared. “Please, Lionel. There’s got to be a loophole. There’s always a loophole.”
Lionel considered this for several seconds.
“Andrew, if you truly love her, you’ll figure it out.” He turned and strolled off down the sidewalk.
Andrew breathed a desperate sigh as the church bell began to toll midnight and the locksmith angel gradually faded away into the bitter night air.
“No peeking, Mr. Farmer!” Christmas Eve morning, the last day of Beth’s life, found Andrew and Beth standing in front of the big Fraser fir tree in River Falls Town Square. They each held an inscribed metallic Christmas ornament. Her green one said “Beth,” his red one said “Andrew.”
Andrew teased her. “Now, why do we have to close our eyes again?”
“Because I say so,” Beth said. “We can’t just plunk our ornaments on any old branch. We have to feel it. Feel the tree.”
Andrew reached out and rubbed a branch. Beth gave him a playful punch in the arm. “No! I don’t mean literally. You have to feel it in your heart. Then you’ll know just the right spot for your ornament.”
Andrew grinned. “Oh. Got it.”
“All right,” Beth said. “Close your eyes.” Andrew obeyed. “Now concentrate, and let all the stress flow out of you. Think of the tree, only the tree. Be the tree. Then, when you’re ready, find the perfect spot for your ornament.”
Andrew cracked one eyelid and spied on Beth; she had her eyes dutifully clenched shut as she reached out, blindly searching for the perfect branch. Once he saw where she placed her green ornament, he placed his red one right next to it.
“Okay,” Beth said. “Now you can open your eyes.”
They opened their eyes and saw their two matching ornaments dangling side by side. “Perfect,” she said. “Even though I know you peeked.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Okay, let’s go home!” She grabbed Andrew’s arm, started pulling him along with her.
“Home? Beth, no!” Andrew dug in his heels and stopped her in her tracks.
She gave him a puzzled look. “No?” she said.
“I mean, I think we should stay awhile longer,” Andrew said. “Don’t you like being here? I love being here. Let’s spend Christmas in River Falls.”
“What?” Beth said. “I thought you didn’t like River Falls. ‘A trip to the library’s bigger than this.’ Remember?”
“Well, I’ve changed my mind,” Andrew said. “We can hang out with Mitch, Megan, and the kids. Maybe you can save Katie’s life again.”
“Andrew . . .”
“Beth, please say yes! It’ll feel like a real family Christmas.”
Beth smiled, pulled him in close, and whispered, “Uh-uh. I want to spend Christmas in Manhattan with you. Just the two of us, snuggled up by the fire in our cozy apartment in front of the Christmas tree. Which we still have to get, by the way.”
“But—”
Beth silenced him with a kiss. “No argument. You said it was my choice. Remember? And I choose home for Christmas.”
Andrew could scarcely concentrate as he paid the hotel bill. He was barely conscious of Mr. Gibbons behind the counter. The innkeeper was talking about the weather and holiday traffic, his aching feet. To Andrew, it was all just background clatter. His mind was on the wall clock behind the desk. Each tick sounded like a crashing cymbal.
“Your wife not going with you?” Mr. Gibbons said.
Andrew looked up at him. He was vaguely aware the man had aimed a question in his direction. Old Gibbons was happy to repeat it. “I said, your wife not going with you? I was being funny. I’m quick with the jokes.”
“I wish she weren’t,” Andrew said.
Gibbons cocked his ear at him. “What’s that you say?”
Andrew raised his voice a few decibels. “She’s still packing.” He noticed the time on the wall clock: 9:58 a.m.
Gibbons noticed Andrew’s clock watching. “Clock’s a few minutes slow,” he said. Andrew shot him a scathing look, and the innkeeper smiled. “Wouldn’t want you to miss your train.” Gibbons handed Andrew his credit card receipt. “If you’ll just give me your John Hancock.” Andrew hurriedly signed his name as the squeaky front door opened.
“Good morning, Mr. Whitman,” Gibbons said. “How was your walk?”
“Fine,” a man’s voice said from behind Andrew.
Andrew wheeled about to see his most famous literary client standing just inside the door, kicking the snow from his boots. Alistair Whitman was a barrel of a man with a thick grayish beard and a shock of frazzled white hair. His voice was commanding, and his words came out as if each syllable were gold. The renowned writer had a look of amusement on his face when he saw his agent.
“Well, if it isn’t Andrew Farmer.”
“Alistair?”
“Oh, so you two know each other,” Gibbons said.
Whitman and Andrew ignored the innkeeper and shook hands. “And here I thought you hated this place,” Whitman said.
Andrew gaped at him. “Alistair, what are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here? What do you think? Working on the sequel. Andrew, it was your idea, remember?” Whitman looked at the innkeeper. “Go back to River Falls and get inspired, he tells me.”
Andrew couldn’t remember the first thing about any such conversation, but then, he was a mite preoccupied. “Oh, right,” he said. “Sorry. I’ve been a bit scatterbrained lately.”
Whitman smiled. “So I hear congratulations are in order.”
Andrew gave him a puzzled look. “Congratulations?”
“I hear old man Townsend’s dispatching you to the left coast to launch the new LA office.” Whitman looked at Gibbons. “People just can’t seem to get enough of those frightful celebrity tell-all books. Andrew, you should fit right in out there with those Hollywood sharks. Just don’t forget about your favorite client.”
Andrew wanted to turn and run out the door. This was the last conversation on earth he wanted to be having at that moment.
“Nothing’s set in stone yet . . . ,” Andrew said.
“Oh?” Whitman said. “That’s not what I heard. I heard it was a done deal. Be sure to take plenty of sunscreen.”
Andrew noticed that the author was no longer looking at him. His eyes were now locked on the top of the lobby staircase. Andrew followed his gaze, and his heart stopped. Beth was looking down at him, her hang-up bag slung over her shoulder. For a brief moment, he wasn’t sure she’d overheard their conversation, and then he saw it in her eyes—a mixture of shock and pain. She’d heard, all right. She’d heard everything.
Forever Christmas Page 9